


Hey, Golden Boy

by carnivorousBelvedere, PeachBriseadh



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Curses, Fluff, Gold Kink, Kleptomania, M/M, Magic Jewelry, Modern Magic, Royalty, gold - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-01-23 16:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18553390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnivorousBelvedere/pseuds/carnivorousBelvedere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachBriseadh/pseuds/PeachBriseadh
Summary: Dirk is cursed and can turn anything into gold, which lands him in an arranged marriage with the future queen of the kingdom.He hopes he can convince her kleptomaniac brother, Jake, to help him get out of it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this fic has a playlist! 
> 
> found [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4oRvcQy1D6xCCL6aqKsvxS?si=rrVUBKP6QIKGVkHK6DQWGw)

There are many reasons why Dirk Strider does not want to marry Jane Crocker-English, princess and future queen of Skaia. 

The first is that she is a woman.

The second is also that she is a woman. 

In all seriousness, Dirk doesn’t want to be married off period, because he feels like a piece of meat. A piece of very shiny meat. 

Such is life when one is cursed slash one has cursed themself with the ability to turn anything into gold. 

His royal family had always been in the spotlight, that kind of thing is hard to avoid when being cursed runs in the bloodline. Dirk had thought he’d maybe dodged the worst of that bullet until he messed around with some heirlooms and oh yeah, his earrings are cursed and so now he is. 

Things went to shit after that, as they often do.

Now he’s sitting at the front table of the banquet hall, Jane sitting at his side, facing the rest of the filled space and all the doting folk they oversee. 

Roxy leans over to him on his side. “You look pretty miserable, dude,” she observes.

No shit, he’s about to be married off to someone he doesn’t even think he’s capable of consummating a relationship with. 

“Need some help?” Roxy offers. 

Dirk restrains from rolling his eyes as Roxy nudges a cup of something at his thigh. “That party trick is pretty tired, Rox,” he mutters. “What is it anyways?”

She sighs and lifts the cup up from under the table to examine it, sniffing above the rim. “Huh, I think I got a nice beaujolais tonight. Might keep this one to myself, thanks.”

“Wasn’t gonna have any anyways,” he mutters back. 

He glances sidelong at Jane and quickly looks away. 

This sucks. In a fit of anxiety he touches his plate and turns the entire thing, food and all, into gold. 

Everything in this place is gold because of him. Silverware turned to goldware, golden plates and accents and ornaments and napkin rings and lamps and statues.

He looks nervously at the giant (obviously golden) clock at the end of the hall and notes the time at which he’ll make his escape.

It can’t come soon enough. 

-

Jake English has a problem.

Well, maybe not precisely a problem per say, more like a quirk! A kind of charming nervous vagary, even. Harmless, really. It wasn't as if he ever hurt anyone with it! 

Though, if someone were to press Jane on the matter of Jake's… distinct propensity, she would say that, “impulsively pocketing pretty trinkets because you can” is definitely snug in the category of “has a problem.”

And at this very moment, seated in the lavish home of Jane's future husband, who incidentally has the uncanny gift of an alchemist's flare for transmuting alloys into solid gold, he's having a teensy bit of a terrible time wrangling his self control. 

_He just wants to keep every bloody thing._

There are, at present, three round napkin holders, two short forks, a hideous teaspoon, five flower heads of various genus, and a swollen strawberry weighing down his inner pockets, all of which are deliciously solid gold. He pins one napkin holder, not yet pilfered, beneath his finger and rolls in back and forth along the table.

He did not wear the correct jacket for this trip.

Jane watches from the corner of her eye to silently dissuade him from his petty thievery. Little does she know he's been pilching since they walked in the big front door. He plays with the golden loop, letting her find comfort in the misguided idea that he's behaving himself. 

Better than kicking the nest while the queen bee is at her most temperamental.

He glances up at the sound of whispering, as Dirk chatters with his sister Roxy, who is poised across from his station at Jane's side. She does a funny something to her refreshments, then shares a few words with her handsome counterpart. 

Jake watches in awe as Dirk, looking all the picture of stoic indifference he is rumored to encompass, touches the tip of one long finger to his plate, changing it's very recipe right before Jake's eyes. 

He lets the ring wobble and drop to the tablecloth, forgotten. Even blinking is a trick to be managed in the face of that Midas touch.

_Shucky friggin darn_

He swallows hard, and tries not to stare too obviously.

-

As quickly as it happens, a servant comes and takes the plate, placing one with actual food in front him. 

He has no clue and doesn’t care where the gold one is going to go. 

Everyone who enters the hall knows not to swipe the various odds and ends laying about as guards are on standby scrutinizing the crowd for any dimwitted individual who thinks themself ready to make a quick buck, but the thing is Dirk just doesn’t care about them. Their kingdoms are rich now, he’s technically rolling in it, he should be happy but as he glances at the visage of his future _wife_ his chest squeezes in an unpleasant way.

Dirk gazes back down from the clock to see Jane’s younger brother ogling at him. 

He’s not completely ignorant, he can see that the man, who he’d briefly been introduced to as Jake, has had sticky fingers all night long. 

The funny part is that since he’s technically part of the future wedding party, none of the guards have been willing to tell him off. He watches them shuffle about in the periphery, continuously unable to decide how to handle the situation. At least something of interest is happening tonight. 

Jane is glaring at Jake and thankfully not paying attention to Dirk himself, which he is relieved by. Any second spent outside of her attention the better, even though the right thing to do would be to engage her in conversation, anything that doesn’t make him look completely ungrateful to be future king. 

He absolutely is though. Ungrateful, that is. 

He needs to get out of this arrangement. He can’t do it, he can’t do this wedding, doesn’t want to be a king-but-mostly-money-machine, doesn’t want to marry _her_. 

Roxy elbows him concernedly and he realizes he’s been sinking into his chair and his breathing has become irregular. He sits back up and clenches his million-dollar hands under the table, turning his eyes once more to the younger Crocker-English. 

Dirk regularly wouldn’t be keeping an eye on someone like this, but he’s got a little bit of an edge in the form of Rose. She’d used her lovely gifts to help Dirk out with his situation despite the ravaging headache she would surely suffer after, and was able to acquire Dirk a single word from the future: 

_Jake_. 

One can imagine his surprise when he realized it could be none other than the man at the table across from him now. 

Well, it seems that the prince might be his one way ticket out of wedded bliss. He looks away from Jake and ponders how he’ll approach. 

-

Optate.

That is Jake's word of the day, and a fitting one at that. “To pick out for reason.” 

Well, he is certainly doing a lot of that. Jake slides his phone back into his pocket and unwittingly starts staring at Dirks hands again, at those long slender spider leg fingers. His wrists are somewhat bony beneath the crisp cuffs of his jacket, thin in a pleasant way, sleight enough that Jake could easily wrap them up tight in the cuff of his fingers if he were to try. 

A gravy boat moseys past his glass on stubby little legs, and he prides himself on not catching the golden spoon out of its depths.

Mother mercy is this boring.

He lets himself daydream, wondering what it would be like to have those talented fingers tracing along his bones. That is to say, his tremendous collection of them! A golden skull! Now there's an appetizing thought. 

Eyes wondering without any real goal, his vision climbs up the Dirks embroidered chest, fantasizing about honeyed femurs or a gold leaf atlas on a small chain. 

When a funny sort of thing happens.  
Jake watches the unscruitable prince, Dirk Strider,wilt, there at the head of the table. It's quick as a flash and the man gets ahold of himself quick as a blink with Roxy's interrogative elbow bringing him back to reality.

But Jake knows.

He knows by unfortunate experience that Dirk was falling into what looked like a panic attack. When he looks back up to that handsome profile, Dirk looks younger.

He looks scared.

Jake grips the golden loop in his palm tightly, queasy empathy and anger squirming in his belly. He looks at Jane sadly, and excuses himself from the newly delivered meal.she protests, of course, not wishing to be alone with Dirk, probably. But… Jake needs a lickity-split refresher.

He walks stiffly out the doors and into the hallway, only then realizing he hasn't the slightest idea where the bathroom even is, since he wasn't actually paying attention when the tour was given nearly three hours earlier.

Bloody hell.

-

Dirk startles as Jake suddenly excuses himself from the table and strides out of the hall. His eyes follow the figure as he leaves out the doors, and then contemplatively fall back to the table. 

This is his chance. How much is he willing to wager on Rose’s vision? At the cost of the pain she was in after… probably a lot. 

Roxy, a blessing as always, is striking up a more-than-tipsy conversation with Jane. If there was ever an opening, it would be now. 

He doesn’t even excuse himself, just stands up out of the gilded chair and hustles out of the doorway opposite to the one Jake just exited. This is his home, if there is one thing he’s certain of it’s that he’ll be able to find him. 

It is few times in his life that Dirk feels lucky, and this is one of those. Jake is on the other end of the hallway, glancing about. He looks lost. 

Without any preamble, Dirk swiftly paces to him, steps muffled over the grand rug underneath, grabs the elbow of his jacket (he swears he hears something clink from within it as he does) and without a word drags his unwitting potential savior in the direction of a restroom, glancing about to be sure there are no milling guards. 

He throws open the bathroom door, yanks Jake in and locks the door behind him. Then he peruses the (also golden) stalls, determines they are empty, and finally faces Jake.  
What does he say? That he needs his help? Does that make him seem desperate? Jake’s questioning expression forces him forward.

“I want to make a deal with you.” 

-

Though the castle Strilonde is definitely a Google maps landmark, it does not in fact have predetermined routes inside the massive walls that one might use to locate the lavatory. Though, Jake ponders, it does harbor the fastest wireless connection he has ever experienced.

Lost in thought as he is, Jake yelps when a hand wraps around his elbow and pulls him into a nearby room. The bathroom!! Jake is relieved for half a second before the situation of oh hey you may be getting snatched up tumbles to the front of his mind.

But oh, it's just Dirk!! Phew.

Wait. It’s Dirk? Shouldn’t he be back at the dining table where his presence is high key mandatory? And he's.. oh he's locking the door. Oh blimey he's caught! Jake panics, stuttering and running through deflated apologies in his head at lightning speeds. Before he can say a word, Dirk speaks, and Jake's heart stops.

A deal? With Jake?

“You.. locked the door.” He says dumbly, pointing at the door.

-

“Yeah I locked the door, what do you think is going on here? Just a friendly chat?” Dirk narrows his eyes at his new friend and uses them to roam his body observantly. Jake is definitely well dressed for the occasion, and good looking, but Dirk isn’t going to let himself get distracted. 

This is a business transaction to save his life, nothing more and nothing less. 

“Turn out your pockets,” he directs stiffly. If this all goes south, maybe a small bit of blackmail won’t hurt. But first he needs proof. 

-

_Oh shit knickers_

Jake's shoulders go stiff and he snaps his arms down to his sides, properly scandalized. 

"I beg your pardon?!" He barks as the fat golden strawberry he plucked from a table earlier plummets out of his sleeve and straight to the tiled ground below with a loud, incriminating thunk, rolling sideways across the room like an obese top. He watches as it taps lightly against Dirk's boot, then wobbles to a standstill.

Jake keeps his chin turned down, looking up sheepishly through his lashes at Dirk, and tugs nervously at his high collar. His face is red as a used poker.

"Ahaha, funny thing, that."

-

Dirk’s eyes follow the strawberry as it bounces absurdly on the ground. He nudges it with his shoe when it comes to a stop, causing it to roll on its tip again. He’s not even remotely surprised, he thinks he might have even seen Jake snatch this one himself. 

“Yeah, that. You uh, gonna start talking or am I gonna have to get your sister, maybe a few guards over here?” 

-

And just like that, the proverbial dam of Jake's shoddy defenses crashes to the ground in a flurry of rushed words and garbled apologies.

"Okay, okay listen," he stammers, pulling items one at a time form his coat pockets and handing them over to Dirk between words. "It's not as if I intended any ill will you see, it's just that I- well, I just can't damn well help myself!" 

Two napkin rings.

"Janey says it's called being a complete fucking klepto and well, I suppose she's right on the money there- as Janey tends to be, and since self discipline seems to be a far cry away from being in my wheelhouse."

One napkin ring, both small forks.

"Anyhow, it's reflex! A tawdry habit of collecting bewitching sundry. I hardly realize I'm doing it until I've got them in my pockets!"  
He runs his thumb over the hideous teaspoon.

Keeping that one.

-

Dirk stares down at the slowly growing pile of gold objects growing in his palm. He has to add his second hand because, well, it’s just kind of a lot.

He’s actually impressed.

But he waits until Jake is done rambling, not really caring for much except the point he was looking for- that Jake liked stealing things. 

“Damn, dude.” He puts his pile on the bathroom counter, where one of the napkin rings rolls and clatters into the sink and another on to the floor. 

He faces Jake again. “Great. So you like stealing shiny things, right?” He holds out his palms facing Jake. “How would you like it if I just cut out the middleman and gave you a whole shitting ton of them?” To emphasize his point he leans over the bathroom counter again, plucking one of the displayed roses out of a vase between sinks and holding it out.

Like flipping a switch, he turns the flower to gold and holds it out to Jake. Jake, like a reflex, reaches out to take it, but Dirk pulls his hand back as his fingers are about to to close around the stem near his own. 

“If you help me, that is.” 

-

Jake's hand hovers in the air, fingers slightly curled and eyes jumping back and forth from the shimmering gold of the rose to the smoldering heat of Dirk's golden orange irises. Yowza, now those are some weighty peepers.

“You’re not…” He starts, then thinks better of it, stopping up his words by clearing his throat, lifted hand against his mouth.

“I mean, what can I do for you, your majesty?” Jake straightens up, one arm crossed over his abdomen and the other tucked into the small of his back, a stance he was taught to take when addressing nobility. The flower heads in his inner pockets poke his forearm uncomfortably.

-

“Oh, cut the crap,” Dirk sighs. He’s not in the mood for such sycophantic behavior. “You’re the prince or something, right? You don’t have to do that with me, I’m just the glorified ATM around here.” 

He keeps the rose held close to his chest, watching as Jake rights himself and looks at him innocently. “Come one, everyone knows it. No one here is dumb enough to think there’s any good reason I need to be king besides that.” 

-

_Wh-what?_

Jake visibly recoils.

“Or something?” He bites out. “I’m a _prince_ , Strider, not some mannerless, boorish cur.” Jake’s brow falls into a deep furrow, outrage and pride bubbling up in his chest as he spits out words. “Midas touch or no, you’re still a living person deserving of proper niceties, not some-” He gestures his hand towards Dirk angrily, struggling for a term. “Not some bottomless honeypot!”

Though, Jake amends, that’s not _entirely_ true. 

-

Dirk snorts at Jake’s indignance. “Yeah, sure.” He casts his gaze to the side. “Anyways, I guess I can kind of understand your issue with being unable to keep your hands off things.” Unconsciously, he reaches up to play with one of the earrings on his left lobe, the very item that got him into this mess. 

He is, of course, referring to the unfortunate way he was cursed. 

But that’s neither here nor there. With a small gasp he brings himself back to the moment, taking his hand from his ear to cross both arms in front of his body. 

“I need you to help me get out of this marriage with your sister.” 

-

He wants to stay mad, but he's too curious and hungry for the story here, to understand Dirk’s reasoning behind the man's newly established cold feet. 

Strider’s fingers fiddle with one of the lovely baubles on his lobes, lost for a moment in thought. Jake tilts his hard a little in question, sure he's seeing a tiny piece of a greater puzzle beyond the stoic golden nobleman of rumor. Word of mouth tells that Dirk is calculative and machiavellian in nature, beneath a handsome expressionless face. Cold as the gold he generates.

Looking at him now, asking for help in the wake of a thankfully intercepted panic attack, Jake can't help but think the grape vine needs to cite their sources more carefully.

“Not that I want to be king any more than the next bloke, believe you me! But what's so bad about marrying Jane?” Jake slides his hands into his pockets, ready for a discussion. 

-

Dirk observes Jake as he relaxes into a comfortable stance, settling into the moment. He almost can’t believe he’s caught the prince’s attention for more than a millisecond. Rumor has it the younger English-Crocker is quite the ladies man, weaving his way in and out of bedrooms across the kingdoms, his prowess with seduction only apparently matched by his desire for pretty objects, if his reaction to Dirk’s offer is anything to go by. Dirk wonders how many women have been left by Jake without his number and maybe a few pieces of jewelry. 

If Dirk squints, these issues are one in the same. It’s a reminder to keep the prince at arm’s length. He’s allowed to appreciate his physicality, and who wouldn’t, but he wonders if Jake hasn’t extended his alleged ecstasy-inducing hands to Dirk solely because he’s his sister’s intended. 

Instead of mirroring Jake’s stance he crosses his arms and steels his face.

Would it be prudent to tell the truth? Take a gamble?

“I’m uh… not particularly interested. In women.” he casts his gaze away, slightly concerned for the prince’s reaction. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ‘put me on blast,’ as they say. Otherwise I might be encouraged to return the favor.” It’s a clear threat. 

-

Oh.

_Oh._

Jake’s eyebrows launch up to his hairline, rapid fire blinking at Dirk’s face. “Beg your pardon, _my lord_ , but that sure does sound an awful lot like a call to arms!” He leans back and crosses his arms to match Dirk, tapping his fingers along one bicep in a quick, anxious rhythm. How dare he! Jake is a _prince!_ And this gangly goldenrod’s very own prince to boot! The unmitigated gaul of it all is just plain taggering!

“Pretty funny way to go about courting a fellow for assistance there, Strider!”

Though… he would be lying if the threat wasn’t honestly agitating him. 

The habit of taking pretty things that don’t belong to him has _always_ been somewhat grating against his conscience. Though, it had been frightfully easy to slide it into the ‘out of sight out of mind’ category of his mind. If he allowed himself to dote on the thievery, it would only lead him headlong into bouts of pouting and sitting around like a jellyfish with the misery. 

Not to mention the implication that Jake was such a lowlife that he would toss Strider to the dogs! And for what, his preferences? Like hell he would. So Dirk prefered lads, who gave a slinging hoot! Jake was no stranger to falling for an alluring sheik.

He grits his teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw jump. 

Stand your ground, English, he thinks as he tries his best to look outraged rather than nervous.

-

Damn, he’s really got his hackles up. Dirk can’t help but feel relieved, as Jake seems far more upset about Dirk threatening him than the issue he was being threatened over. 

“Yeah and might I remind you, _prince_ , that I’ll be your king pretty damn soon, unless you help me out of it, which is the whole reason I called this little rendezvous.” They’re getting sidetracked, and Jake is clearly upset. “Can we just say I don’t want to be king and call it a day?” 

-

“Fine, alrighty,” Jake says as he pushes up his glasses, annoyance and anxiousness buzzing beneath his skin and causing his voice to go reedy. “Let's say you don't want to be king then, what am I supposed to do about it, hmm?” 

He honestly hasn't the slightest clue what Dirk expects him to do about the whole marital situation. He lets his eyebrows curve up in a sincere, concerned expression.

“Frankly, Strider, if you're under the impression that I have any say in this whole affair, I'm sorry to say you're off your nut about a mile and a half.” 

-

Dirk would roll his eyes through his skull if he were physically capable. Time to lay all his cards on the table. 

“You see these things?” He points to a gold knot earring in his lobe. “Fun fact, these are the reason I can turn shit into gold, making me economic VIP. I would very much like to find a way to destroy them. And before you ask ‘have you tried taking them off’ which is the even shittier version of ‘have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again’, yes I have, they’re cursed. These tiny assholes are so cursed Rose can’t even figure it out, and everyone knows Rose is pretty damn good at the figuring it out thing.” He drops his hand. “If I can find a way to break the curse, I’m no longer important, and that means I don’t have to go through with... This whole wedding thing.” It’s painful to say it. He doesn’t want to get married. The word itself is like a dose of anxiety. 

Jake is still staring at him. He reaches up to rub at the back of his neck uncomfortably. “For whatever reason, Rose thinks you might be able to help me do that.” There, bomb dropped. He crosses his arms and stands a little straighter, readying himself for Jake’s reaction. 

-

Everyone across the Skaian kingdom knows the Strilondes are cursed. 

Each of them have their own unique symptoms, whether born to brought unto them. Roxy, who turn water to wine. Dave, who, well, Jake isn't sure about Dave's. He keeps to himself. Dirk, of course, Midas himself.

And Rose. The fortune teller. _The Seer._

She thinks _he_ can help Dirk? Rose's premonitions are not known for their failures.

Jake swallows hard, reaching up to loosen his bowtie. He can't breath, it's too hot in this tiny fucking box of a room. He looks at the rose clutched in Dirk's hand, wonders if the thorns along it's stem still prick viciously into his palm.

If he did this, he would be helping Dirk, a beautiful stranger, escape. 

But he would, inadvertently, be stealing from Jane. _From Jane,_ his future queen and loving sister. Stealing from his family. From royalty.

Oh. There's a fun thought.

Well, he mused, Dirk wasn't exactly Jane's. Not _yet_ , anywho.

Running his hands through his hair, he forces his eyes up to Dirk's face, giving him a crooked grin. Jake feels the sweat in his own hair, nerves humming, and licks his lips.

“Bullocks, that's quite the weight to bare,” he laughs, nervous humor in every word. He lets his arms fall loudly to his sides, causing the flower heads in his jacket to clink together musically.

“Well, clementine, every now and then mother nature throws us a dirty curve, though I guess you found your own folly, eh?” He gives Dirk a real smile and shoots him a wink.

“I'll help you avoid your fate as the royal slush fund, yeah, but don't you for a second think it's due to your ham handed blackmail, love.” 

-

Dirk snorts. Jake is sure living up to his reputation, winks and all. 

It doesn’t matter, as it seems he’s agreed to help Dirk. 

He takes a deep breath, and then reaches forward to mentally touch Jake’s soul. Jake can’t feel it, but Dirk does. 

No one had cared about this aspect after Dirk had found the curse of the heirloom jewelry. His primary familial curse wasn’t as important or interesting, it only made his life hell. 

But something weird happens when he touches Jake’s. When he uses his ability to purposefully feel out the people around him, dive deeper into them instead of being bombarded by mere presence, he can see the color of their soul. He can sometimes feel their emotions or mental state, but no matter what he can see down to their core and they cannot hide from him. 

Jake’s soul is green, fresh, comforting like a quiet walk in the forest, clarity like the smell of pines. 

Dirk finds himself leaning forward without thinking about it, almost wanting more of it. He pulls himself out roughly and stands back up straight again. He blinks, once, twice, staring at Jake. It all happens in half a second. 

Feeling Jake had been complete lucidity. It almost washes away Dirk’s beehive mind after being around so many people in that other room. It’s so unexpected of the prince he doesn’t know what to make of it. He had expected…. Not that. Not that at all. 

Especially when the man himself looks like he might be sweating bullets. Well, it had been vibrating with incredible nervous energy that rivaled Dirk’s own. 

Dirk swallows and nods. “Uh, okay, great.” He stands back with relief. So Jake really hadn’t cared about his reasons for not wanting to be king all that much, fine with him. Better, even. 

“So uh, what’s our game plan? Because I’ve kind of exhausted all my Google Scholar ends.” 

-

Jake can’t help it, he laughs, manic and full like a stunted bark. The image of this tall, presumably educated, stoic man pouring over Google Scholar just tickles him to the core. He puts one hand on his hip and uses the opposite to tamper with his bowtie some more.

“Bilge, Strider, you make it sound frog shit impossible right out of the gate!” Jake rocks on his heels and somehow manages to twiddle his tie loose, huffing at the ease in which his hands work without his direct forethought. Idle hands do the Devil’s work, as they say. 

Sliding his tie back and forth against the back of his neck, he lets his mind wonder around the Strider mansion, since the great big wide web was apparently a dead end. If he recalls correctly from his moth-eaten attention span, there is one hell of a sizable library in the belly of this beast.

Had Dirk not thought to look in his very own library?

“Say, honeycomb” he starts, pulling both ends tight and staring off into the ceiling corner. “Has it crossed that sharp mind of yours to utilize your bally great atheneum?” 

-

Dirk watches him, eyebrows slightly pulling in, as Jake mindlessly removes his tie. Watching him do it feels almost indulgent. 

Dirk is set to marry his sister, he shouldn’t be letting himself get eyefuckfuls of her brother.

The petnames certainly don’t help. He’s going to need to tell Jake to stop eventually if they were going to work together. 

But he’s not all that great at denying himself, and he watches the muscles of Jake’s elegant neck as he thinks, suddenly paying a bit too much attention to the skin now shown between his collar. 

Everyone knows Jake English is attractive, and Jake English is a man, and Dirk likes men, so by the transitive property he is unfortunately going to find Jake English attractive. He makes himself look up at Jake’s face when he speaks. 

“Uh, yeah, what do you think my family hasn’t already been through curses one-oh-one?” 

He’d actually never hung out in the library, it wasn’t exactly his scene. Some people may have sought their peace there, but he much preferred the gentle whir of machines when he was determined to be away from people. Not that he ever fully could, anyways. 

He’d always just assumed Rose had carded through it all. She was the one he trusted to Know Things, but when she’d not known what to do about the earrings he assumed there was nothing out there for him. 

He lifts a hand to Jake, his opposite one still spinning the rose between his fingers. “But fresh eyes never hurt, I suppose.” 

-

He should really be more weary of Dirk, and probably a great deal more worrisome about what he's about to attempt to pull off as his cohort, but what the hell. If things do indeed go tits up, what's the worst that could happen?

Jake laughs again, because it's just hard not to find some of the deadpan things Dirk says humorous, and extends his hand to meet Dirks in a firm shake.

“Don't you know, Strider? Best place to hide a leaf is in a forest. We'll see if I can't sniff out this miracle fix of yours.” 

He straightens up, looking from the golden rose then back up to Dirk's face, grinning. He puts a hand against his bare collar, feeling for the silk tie. Oh, he thinks, as his grin goes lazy and sheepish.

“Don't suppose you know how to tie a bowtie?” 

-

Dirk flushes and it leaves as fast as it comes. 

Of course he knows how to tie a bowtie, but he is quite certain that Jake is mostly pulling out that infamous charm. He really should say no. He needs to get out of there and back to his quarters, he’s running out of time… 

Jake is looking at him expectantly. Dirk feels like quipping that Jake should know how to do that, but he does something indulgent instead. 

He sighs and steps forward, holding out the golden rose to Jake. Jake immediately takes it in his hands, almost reflexively. 

Suddenly he is entirely in Jake’s space. Jake is definitely sweating, he’s so nervous for some inexplicable reason. It’s tempting to reach out and feel his soul again but he’s worried he would fall into that vibrating unfamiliar calmness again.

Dirk reaches up and takes both ends of the bowtie, quickly working to tie it. His fingers brush against Jake’s neck accidentally as he flips one end over for the first tie. The prince swallows and gods, it is so so hard not to just stare. He keeps his eyes downcast and focused, although he can feel Jake’s eyes on his face. 

Dirk is very careful not to touch his skin again, but he still can feel the heat on his fingers from when he brushed his skin. 

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. He should not allow himself to be so easily charmed by handsome strangers, even if helpful. 

He finishes the tie with careful hands and steps back, still keeping his eyes away from Jake’s face, rather scared he would start blushing in the intensity of his pure attractiveness. _You’re weak_ , he thinks. 

“I… thank you. For helping me. I really should go but… we should meet tomorrow afternoon to begin, if that’s acceptable for you.” If there isn’t room in the wedding plan schedule, he will certainly make it so. 

-

When Dirk blushes and sighs, Jake's grin swells across his face and his heartbeat skips. He had fully expected Dirk to turn and leave him standing there sweating like a whore in church, but nope, Dirk stepped right up to the request. Lifting his chin up, Jake allows Dirk some more room to work the tie into a presentable shape, wringing his fingers together around the warm stem between them, twirling the rose to burn off some of his nervous energy built up like static from Dirk’s proximity.

The man is very careful, very quick, and _very_ pretty up this close. It’s far too difficult to _not_ look at him, so Jake lets himself make a meal of it while the handsome creature concentrates on the task at hand. His lashes are long and dark over those astonishing amber irises, surrounded by sharp, proud features. He’s angular in pleasant, elegant ways, all birdlike and slim. Not to mention positively doused in freckles like you would not believe. 

His eyes slide down to Dirk’s pink lips, wondering how he’s built beneath all his coats and buttons and just how far those freckles expand across his anatomy. Is all the hair on his body that spun, strawberry gold? He sincerely hopes so.

He forces himself away, turning his attention to look at their profiles in the mirror and swallows. Shucks if he wasn’t lovely from every angle. After what seems like the longest few seconds of his life, Dirk finishes his work and steps back. Jake finds himself both bereft, and pretty friggin relieved. 

This entire exchange has been mighty exhausting and he’s ready to take a breather before digging into this Grand Adventure. And now Dirk is thanking him.

Thanking him? By gum he sounds almost shy in a way that makes Jake’s heart clench up and his eyebrows practically float up and off to the ceiling above. This is not the Dirk Strider he had expected. 

His tongue trips over his teeth as he hurries to respond, flushing across his cheeks.

“Oh- well, I haven’t done anything yet, I mean-” he starts, clears his throat, and tries again.

“Don’t thank me yet, pet. Besides, what’s acceptable for me? I’m not the one being dragged all over Arda’s boundless realms by the scruff for marriage obligations.” He takes one more step away and gives Dirk a shallow bow. He has no qualms with slipping away from any and all wedding plans, it’s not like he’s the one tying the knot. They’ll get along just fine in his absence. 

“I’m at your command, clementine.”

-

Jake’s yielding bow brings Dirk back to remember who he’s supposed to be in this situation. He pushes his shoulders back and stands up straight to regard his compliant prince. 

Dirk would be lying if he said something hadn’t just passed between them. Why had he done that? He should have rolled his eyes and walked away. He shouldn’t let _Jake_ of all people toy with him like this, it’s dangerous footing to put himself on with the rumored womanizer. The electricity of touching Jake’s skin continues to circle his fingers, even as he crosses his arms. 

They both would be better to remember their station in future interaction. 

But seeing Jake like this, bowing to him, makes him uncomfortable. It’s a reminder that he’s not fit for this royal business, he much preferred his life when he was known but obscure. The commands he likes to input are that of code into his robots, not onto gobs of subjects. 

Although, maybe in this case it is solely the submission of Jake that has him uneasy. It feels unnatural. 

“I suppose. Well then, I need to… retire for the evening. This goes without saying, but I trust you won’t mention this to anyone,” he sighs. “Meet me in the east wing library at three tomorrow.” He has to sort through the mental schedule he has for purposes of dreading to remember when he’s got a free moment. He steps to the door and unlocks it.

“See you then, Jake.”


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe...

_Maybe that was a bad idea?_ Jake thinks as he watches Dirk straighten his spine and square up.

“No, of course not! Cross my heart and all that,” he says, playing out the motion with his free hand. Dirk has a heavy tiredness to him, no doubt from too many impromptu obligations being pressured on to him day in and day out.

“Brave face, love. See you in the 'morrow.” Jake gives Dirk a smile and a gentle wave as he steps out, letting the door close behind him. 

The moment the latch clicks, Jake blows out a raspberry, letting his shoulders slump and his back bow forward. Great Gipper, he was well and truly done with talking to people for the evening. Jane would survive the dinner without his presence, not to mention how that little rendezvous had his stomach tied up in too many knots to even think about eating. Besides, he was eager to be in his own, digging into the deep musty volumes the Strilondes might be hiding unawares, waiting to be raided.

Stretching his arms up higher above his head, he caught sight his reflection out of his periferal, cheeks still wearing a warm flush.

He turns, faces himself, and runs a hand through his hair. He smiles, then immediately frowns at the hollowness of the expression. Blimey, best not to think too hard about that one. His eyes fall down to the impeccably tied silk around his neck, lifting a hand to the bow.

Dirk's curved loops sat more even and secure than Jake's clumsy fingers had ever managed on his own. See, Jake's own tying was whopper jawed and loose at best. He couldn't keep his hands off the bows for the life of him, compelled to pull and tug until it gave. 

He smiled softly, not daring to meet his own eyes, and instead focusing on the soft green and gold pattern of the silk. _This one, though_ , he thinks fondly. 

This one he'll let alone. 

Jake slips out of the bathroom and heads towards his assigned room, glancing over Jane's messages and shooting her a quick apology text about feeling sick and turning in early. He shoves the device into his back pocket without waiting for a reply.

Flinging open the big wooden door, he dumps his golden rose and stuffy dinner jacket on the small table directly inside, not even bothering to go past the frame. He pivots, pulling the door shut, and hurries off to the library, not a moment to waste. 

Or, where he hopes the library is, at least.

-

Dirk almost turns around to tell him off. _Brave face, love._

Where does Jake get off to telling him that? He doesn’t need that kind of condescension. A part of his brain knows that it was said with sincerity, but it still strikes Dirk as otherwise. He doesn’t need Jake’s attempt at comfort, he just needs his help. 

Oddly, those could be the same thing. 

He takes a moment to focus and determine the path to his quarters with no souls in his way, and when he finds a clear path he hurries on it. There’s no way he’d let himself be seen after sundown. Everyone knows not to bother him in his rooms, either. He’d so far been able to write it off as a type of eccentricity but who knows when someone might figure it out. 

Dirk hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d scoured the internet for hours. Being cursed like this meant not needing sleep, and that left plenty of time for research. Obviously his state required care when handling a computer, unless he wanted to splash gold everywhere, but so far he had managed. 

He double locks his door slips out of his evening wear, mourning that he lost his window to take a bath before it sets in. Maybe tomorrow he’ll have time, depending on how soon he can slip out of the dinner. The dinner following his meeting with Jake. 

Great. 

He draws the heavy curtains as the sun fully sets through the window panes, and waits. 

He’s never sure how long the transformation takes. 

Molten gold starts to drip down his limbs, trickling in coagulated lumps from his head down to his soles, and recycling like some kind of twisted, metallic fountain. It rises up from out of his skin and coats his entire being, so amorphous one might not even know he was human under all that. He’ll be like this until sunrise. 

No one can ever see him like this. Maybe if the prince really can help him… he won’t have to worry about it anymore. 

-

Jake English doesn't know many spells, most magic these days is so intimately entwined with tech that it's all directed by short voice or sound commands. Sharp snaps of one's fingers, clapping, even singing is preferred over long winded cantations. 

Jake, however, has always preferred whistling. He's good at it, always has been, in fact. Like his sticky fingered abductions of useless baubles, he does it out of habit. So when he set off in search of their intended meeting place and only succeeded in stumbling into the wrong library TWICE shortly after his first meeting with the ineffable Strider, one that still lacked the correct moniker of 'east wing library,’ he pulled out his phone, selected his compass app employed for hikes, and whistled a low, rising note. Gadzooks, he was in no way about to ask for directions.

A compass about the size of his palm hovered about a foot away from his chest, giving him a clear reading of his cardinal misgivings. 

Right-o, moving right along.

After that, finding the right library was a piece of cake, even though he had to empty his pockets of the various sundry he had made off with from the other chambers. He probably could have simply done this at the start of his treck for the east wing, but he was having too much fun selectively marauding.

Jake had searched for clues for cures until his eyes ached, then slogged off to bed after convincing himself that the inevitable crick in his neck from sleeping in the short chairs of the library wasn't worth it. 

He rose early the next morning as per usual, ran around the estate, marveling at the gardens behind the Strilonde's manor, then hurried back inside to prepare for another day of digging through flyleaf after flyleaf of aged verso.

Being a prince and all, he requested one of the maids fetch him a pot of coffee, but corrected it to hot toddy before she left. 

Presently, Jake sits on the top rung of a rather uncomfortably tall, albeit sturdy, rolling ladder.

He checks his watch, reading quarter to three. Dirk would be arriving soon. Jake looks down at himself and snorts a laugh. He had discarded his jacket hours ago, leaving it and his phone somewhere below, on ground level near the table with the toddy. Now, after leafing through one of the most touch starved collection of books he'd ever seen, Jake was absolutely dusted in, well. 

Dust.

It clung to his white dress shirt and tickled his nose. He lifts his glasses and wipes them down with a cloth from his back trouser pocket, a true act of balance situated atop the rolling ladder like he is.

Jake lifts his cup from the little saucer, hovering just shy of his left shoulder, and takes a sip. He pushes his rolled sleeves up just a little further, straightens his suspenders, and , both nervously and expectantly, thinks about the handsome Dirk Strider for the bazillionth time since waking.

He may be striking out with all these creaking tomes, but maybe he won't have the same shabby luck with Dirk. Jake was mad curious about him, and well. Dirk is rather uh. Well he is beautiful.

For the third time, Jake shakes his head, starts over on the book in his hands, having not retained a single word out of six paragraphs, and sneezes into the silent room.

-

Dirk had not spent a significant portion of his night ruminating over the handsome prince, and the looming days of interaction with him ahead. He’d not almost put his head in his hands over his projector interface computer when he finally dug into what a situation he’d put himself into. 

Come morning, what should he expect if Jake had told Jane? What if Jane and the kingdom found out he was trying to weasel his way out of this agreement? Out of his lucrative curse? His chest squeezes painfully with anxiety. No, it seems Jake had been pretty genuine in his pledge to help him. 

Morning is the same as usual. He feels relief at the end of the stifling period, not because of the isolation but because he can actually work on other pursuits without ruining them in his… condition. Sunrise signals the time at which he can work on his robots without interruption, until the (very well paid off) castle service stops by for an unnecessary wake-up call and alert to the start of breakfast. 

It’s a double-edged sword. When gold drips down his limbs, practically inhuman, he loses his ability to track souls. The other curse fades away. It is peaceful, for a time. 

He also can’t do anything else without covering whatever it is in a layer of flaky gold that peels away after it’s dried. Thankfully, he’d been able to build a computer that worked around it by being completely touch free, handled with waves of hands and a holographic keyboard. 

When daylight breaks over the horizon the souls all come rushing back to him in a crashing tide of awareness as the drippy metal fades back into his skin, like it had never been there. 

Dirk does not ruminate on whether or not his waking hours at strange hours of the day are filled with crushing loneliness and despair versus enjoyment of the solitude. 

He pushes himself through his preparations for the day, and then through breakfast, and then through the meeting with the chamber of commerce at Jane’s side, and then through another meeting with the wedding planner, before he finally has a break for lunch. 

He’s not hungry, far too nervous at seeing the prince who had been absent during all of that day’s proceedings. His attendance was not required, but Dirk had at least hoped to see him over breakfast. 

Is he looking forward to seeing him or just nervous? He should not look forward to Jake’s presence. It must be anxiety. 

He excuses himself from lunch, which nobody seems to notice, and makes his way toward the library, observing his watch tick down to three pm. Will the prince stand him up for this meeting? 

He uses his abilities to avoid souls on his short trek to the east wing, and quietly slips through the doors. 

It is immediately clear that Jake is present. Dirk tiptoes to his location, and then watches the prince. 

So he is 

Actually here.

And reading. 

Dirk feels his chest fill with something light and lifting, something like hope. After a day of grinding royal duties, something about the sight of Jake clearly covered in a layer of dust and researching away on his behalf causes a rare, soft smile to grace his face. 

Jake sneezes and it should not strike Dirk as adorable. He wrestles the oddly fond smile off his face along with the emotion, but he can still feel it barely lining his expression. 

Dirk should make his presence known, if only to avoid scaring the man on the ladder if he happens to catch him out of the corner of his eye. He wishes he didn’t have to, he kind of wants to keep watching. 

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he calls out. How long had Jake even been there? He’d almost said something that might of crossed a line, like ‘I never thought dust would be a good look on someone.’

Yeah, that definitely would have been a bit much. He’s allowed to think it, though. 

-

Jake startles yes, but thankfully it isn’t enough to uproot him from his perch. He smiles at the familiar voice behind him and shuts the book in his hands, sliding it back into place. Another dead end, anywho. Hooking his feet securely over a rung, Jake leans back on the ladder, shoulders against the rungs, to beam at Dirk, down there on the horizon line. He’s just as lovely upside down.

“Not at all, buttercup. I was just about to climb down, come have a drink with me.” He puts a finger on the bridge of his glasses to keep them stationary, and leans back upright. “I’ve got plenty to share with you, and some questions, if you’re willing.” Gripping the smooth edges of the ladder, he wings his legs out on either long bar to slide down as he speaks, just like in the movies! He chuckles when he got to the bottom, pleased that the little stunt actually worked.

He walks over to Dirk, smiling and patting dust off his chest and thighs in a hazy particle cloud. Dirk is very handsomely dressed, presumably coming from some meeting or another. Jake would probably know if he were to check his phone. Probably. He grabs a cup, pours the warm liquid into it, and offers it to Dirk. “Hot toddy for the body,” he chirps, punctuating it accordingly with a quick wink.

-

Dirk watches his entire descent, noting that it was a smooth little move there. Jake is clearly pleased with himself, and Dirk can’t help but trace how his lips curl up on each side as he smiles at him. He is hit with a revelation of a sort, something he already knew, but now it strikes him from a different angle. His chest seizes but he maintains his placid expression despite it. 

’ _Oh no_ ,’ Dirk realizes as Jake nears, still so handsome even under a layer of dust. 

Jake winks at him.

‘ _He’s really hot._ ’ 

As in _really, really fucking hot_. Dirk mentally reprimands himself, again, for being attracted to the brother of the person he’s betrothed to. Not just attracted, either. With just another one of those patented winks he can feel it, that mild blaze of heat in his cheeks and his stomach signaling a completely dreadful word he’s not even going to allow himself to think. This is… pretty terrible. He’s going to be around Jake a lot, now and forever, because they will be in-laws, and royal ones at that. Not to mention Jake is an infamous womanizer. Dirk’s face almost cracks to squeeze into something frustrated, because Jake really should know better. He knows that Dirk is attracted to men, right? 

It makes Dirk wonder, is Jake always like this, and does he also do this wink and smile song and dance for all of his pursuits? Is this the toned down version, because it’s another man? He can’t even imagine if Jake could carry a worse flirtatious air than this, because it would be no wonder women fell into bed with him left and right. 

Jake is holding the the mug out to him. 

Dirk never drinks this early, or really ever, because although it dulls his anxiety, he’s almost slipped up and allowed himself to stay out of his rooms past sunset, and that’s not an event he ever wants to occur. Even now it’s early enough in the day that it really wouldn’t matter, but it’s the principle, too. Accepting the drink from Jake’s hands and his offer to _have a drink with him_ would be the polite thing to do, while rejecting it would hopefully place them back into a professional spectrum, even if only for Dirk’s benefit. 

Despite his rabid overthinking, he really ever was going to do only one thing. 

He swallows thickly before reaching out and taking the cup, willing his hands not to shake as he bears the gaze of the prince. “Thanks,” he says, very careful not to let his fingers brush against Jake’s, even though deep down he desperately wants to let them. He averts his eyes down into the inviting liquid. It smells nice and is probably sweetened with honey. Maybe he could indulge, just this once. “Seems like you’ve been busy in here, but go ahead, fire away.” He keeps the mug in front of him, not taking a drink just yet. 

-

Enthusiasm has always been another little something about Jake that he has little to no control over in particular situations. Being alone with a handsome boy with a secret is definitely one of them. 

As Dirk took the offered drink, Jake felt that cottony warm feeling of sharing your day with someone who might want to hear it equally as much as you want to tell them hum to life I his chest. Even if they were under rather covert circumstances.

Grinning wide, Jake places a hand lightly on Dirks shoulder and leads him over to the small couch and coffee table ha had claimed as camp that morning. He sits down on one side of the love seat, motioning for Dirk to join him on the other.

Jake looks as his pile of files and takes a breath to focus on what needs to be said, not what he would like to be saying. Which would probably be something akin to the sweet way Dirk cradles his cup like it's a fragile precious thing, like a hatchling, and not some nameless China. 

_Focus._

“Busy as a bee, my fine young friend! I've had my nose to the grindstone for quite some time now, and I'll tell you something, there's more books in this place than any one home has a right to own!” He laughs, leaning closer towards Dirk. Truth be told, he skipped breakfast and escaped the yoke of the English-Crocker guards to hole up in the library. He went as far as to sneak lunch through a convenient back door with the help of some mischievous kitchen staff just to have more time alone. 

“Now, down to brass tacks. I haven't come across any miracle tinctures that fit your specific prescription as of yet, but there are other things you may fancy.” It's true, Jake hadn't a lick of luck all day, but he had collected some little goodies to show Dirk he was trying. 

Jake pulls out a few sheets of paper he pilched from an old red volume about the effects of metal erosion over time. The sheets were old, well beaten, and covered in shitty drawings.

“These are signed and dated by one mister Dirk Strider for a mister Dave Strider.” He said as he slid across the couch to allow Dirk access to them in his lap, Jake's thigh pressed against Dirk's. He worries for a moment if he'll get dust on Dirks clean slacks, and decides it's worth the risk. 

“You couldn't have been bigger than a minute when you drew these up!” It's a robot of some sort, designs by a kind too young to really know the mechanics, but keen on how it could learn them. Jake barrels on.

“And of course there were more, letters and notes stashed away between pages nearly molded together with dust! A few receipts, hand made spells, etc etc.” He waves his hand, winding up his thoughts to close it. “And you know? I realized I hadn't the faintest idea on what _exactly_ kind of needle I'm digging for in all this hay!” He waves his busy hand out and around them, looping it back around to point at the sheet of children's drawings.

“Then a thought struck me! Um… I don't mean to pry, really I don't, but I recall you saying your earrings grant you that honeyed touch? Maybe if I knew where your siblings got theirs curses, or how, then maybe perhaps..” he trails off, wondering if curses come in complete sets like china or volumes of comic books. He shrugs.

“A place to jump off of, so to speak.” 

-

It’s one thing when Jake puts a hand on Dirk’s shoulder to guide him to sit down.

It’s another issue entirely when he finds Jake has not only been hard at work delving the depths of the library, but he’s gone through so deep he had managed to find some of Dirk’s earliest scrawled schematics from when he barely knew what he was going.

The shock and shame of it strikes him like a bolt to the chest, but he doesn’t move, practically frozen in the moment. He barely hears what Jake says next as he zones out deep into mortification, and much in the way it’s become a subconscious reflex as of late, Dirk turns the cup in his hand, and its contents, into gold. 

With imperceptibly shaking hands, he sets the now undrinkable beverage on the table beside them, and draws in a deep sharp breath as he puts together that Jake is asking him for a history of Strilonde family curses. 

He can feel it coming before it begins. 

He’s going to pull a Dave, and he can’t stop it. 

He just starts _talking_. It’s not clever, or enlightening, just words. 

“Uh. Well. I don’t really know. I mean, obviously everyone in my family is cursed. It’s been that way for a few generations. We were royal before all that too, don’t ask me why or how I just know that we are. If you really wanted to know the answer to that question I could ask Rose, she knows everything. Like _everything_. I once asked her about the Villein proclamation of 1936 and she didn’t stop telling me about it for half a hour. I still don’t understand why she couldn’t figure out this situation, she kept telling me everything about it gave me blocks in her vision. The first time she tried to figure it out she had a headache so bad she slept for three days.” He breathes in. 

-

Jake watches Dirk's fingers curl around his little cup as he waits for a response. Just like at dinner a few nights prior, it happens soundlessly, a heavy molten frost creeping across the smooth edges of the cup and toddy, turning it solid. Jake's jaw settles somewhere on the dust ridden carpet at his feet as his eyes dart from the gold to Dirk's face.

_Heavens to Murgatroyd._

Reaching over to the table, he grabs one of the items he pocketed on his escapades in the other, smaller libraries, and places it in Dirk's hands. Dirk doesn't miss a beat, one word rolls off his tongue followed quickly by the next. When the little horse head bookstop is goldened, Jake takes it from Dirk and lays it on the floor between them.

He picks up a small wooden jar and it gets the same treatment. Rinse and repeat.

Dirk is a bit worked up, and interrupting him seems less than wise. Jake reaches back towards the table towards his pile of things.

-

“There’s like, five different versions of the legend or folktale or whatever word you like for it, for the uh, the start of all this. Do you want all of them?” 

Dirk distantly notices Jake handing him something as he talks, but he just can’t stop himself. He can feel his power twitching at the edge of his mind. 

“...I’ll just tell you all of them. I think the most popular one was about a haunted doll. A haunted doll that could curse an entirely family? I guess when you say it out loud like that, yeah it’s pretty unconventional. But it’s obviously not unheard of, I mean we have example A right here. It just does seem… extensive… that a doll could curse an entirely family line.” 

Jake takes whatever it is out of his hands. 

“The running theory is that the bloodline actually because infused by a demon, in which case I think you would have to exorcise all of us. It just seems so much more likely that he actually pissed off a demon that wasn’t in a doll, shit’s just cursing with extra steps. Wait okay, so. The earrings.” 

-

Jake picks up a paperweight shaped like some sort of cuddly squid like creature, placing it into Dirks now empty hands. He waits for the proverbial toaster to ping, and takes his newly golden prize. 

He watches Dirks mouth continue to make words, eyes cast up as his hands return to the table. 

-

He is definitely talking with his hands, unthinkingly now. He thinks Jake might be handing him something else, none of it is important. He should take the drawing Jake found and turn it into gold so no one can ever see it again. 

“I was looking around an attic. And like any royal family there’s a lot of shit stored up there… but I saw something that didn’t belong. A small box, and where everything was dusty it wasn’t.”

-

A delightfully tacky Faberge egg that lays perfectly in Dirk's palm.

It changes in record time.

-

“So much like whoever dug up Jumanji I was the dumbass who picked it up and opened it, and suddenly they were in my ears. Still to this day I think someone sent them there remotely.” Jake hands him something else, takes it away. “It didn’t take long for me to catch on, because uh…” 

He flusters even more, wrong direction. Everything is _wrong_. 

-

A crudely carved wooden crow with piercing eyes and a peculiar swirling pattern etched into its feathers. The gold slips into each groove in a slow, hypnotizing way.

-

“I had a hard time controlling it at first. It just kept happening. I never thought anyone would pay attention to me, back then. I was never in line for anything important. I always thought it would be Rose, or Dave, or anyone else but me. The familial curse-- the first one. I think it scared people… Being able to read souls. Maybe being able to destroy them. But all it ever did was make like hell for me. It’s a sick joke, that the curse of the earrings were the first thing to ever make it _better_... I thought I could deal with it, the side effects, but finally someone who wasn’t family saw, and I guess the rest is history….”

-

Jake hands Dirk a crystal he pulled from a slim chain in one of the windows on the way in that morning, waits, and takes it from Dirks fingers.

As he's placing a substantial wizard statue nearly 10 inches tall into Dirks grasp, his words snag Jake's attention. 

“Hold your horses, cowboy!” He says, one hand on the wizard while the other captures one of Dirk's against the statue. “First one? Seeing _what now?_ ” 

-

Dirk is so surprised by Jake’s question he realizes Jake’s hand is not only on his own but also that he is holding a ridiculous wizard statue. It finishes ‘turning’ as he drops his gaze down to it. He looks further below to see a growing pile of golden knick-knacks.

“Jake, what the fuck?”


	3. Chapter 3

Uh oh.

Jake's eyes follows Dirk's to their layers hands, then down to the gold littered floor. He swallows. Dirk's toneless voice echoes Jake's brain for a hot second as he struggles to map out a valid excuse.

He has none. Looking at his hand atop Dirk's, he traces his eyes along the bones of Dirk's fingers, notes the high contrast of Dirk's soft pale skin compared to Jake's dark tan. He likes that, quite a lot. 

“Um..” He says, still looking down. A nervous laugh bubbles up past his teeth. “Well you know, it's just uh- it's just fascinating to- to watch.” Pulling his hands back, Jake slides a few inches away and rubs them palm down across his thighs. “In any case, soul reading! What's that about? What manner of side effects?”

-

Jake’s hand is warm on Dirk’s, contrasting to the cool metal of the ridiculous statue, and then it’s gone. He feels strangely bereft. 

It… had been nice. Shamefully so. 

Moving slowly, Dirk sets the statue on the table and casts his eyes down as he tries not to show his disappointment, his lips setting into a thin hard line. The pile of various objects is nothing more than a reminder of his real purpose, that he is nothing more than a producer of shiny, valuable things. 

It’s probably all Jake sees in him. 

At least he’s not rambling anymore. The realization of what Jake had been doing sobered him, and he can actually choose his words wisely now. 

He stares at the pile of gold and tries not to begrudge Jake too much for it. 

“Doing… that. I wasn’t born with it. I was cursed from birth, just like Rose and Dave and Roxy, but no one cares for that curse because, well, it’s just not as flashy.” He shrugs uncomfortably. “I can see souls, the _color _of them. Except I always know where people are, and living around so many of them…” It’s maddening, but he doesn’t think he needs to say that.__

 _ ___

____

__-_ _

____

____

He feels it, more than see it. A shift in the air, like opening a cold ice box into the heat of a summer's day. Jake blinks, watching Dirk's profile as his features settle, just like that evening across the table. The walls come up. It's so similar to watching the item transform that it makes him queasy. Had he done that? He must have, he always bungles things up some way or another. It's inevitable, really. 

Jake watches the sharp curves of Dirk's jaw as he explains his _first_ curse. Gadzooks is he handsome. He wants to touch Dirk again, soothe him maybe. Anything to get to that flustered warmth again.

Instead, he leans back in, elbows on his knees, and listens. 

“That's.. that's extraordinary, Dirk!” He says, allowing himself a hand on Dirks forearm, fingers sitting across the sharp bones of his wrist. He runs his thumb across the smooth underside, and presses on, face bunching up at his next thought. “Though, I can imagine it to have quite the downside, living as you.. well, as we do.” He can’t sense souls, not like Dirk, but he didn't have to sense them to know what it felt like to be overwhelmed by strangers. 

Overwhelmed.

Another thought jumps into his brain, and his eyes go wide. Pulling his hand back, he starts talking a little louder than he means to. “Jumping Jehoshaphat! And here I am all handsy! Does it bother you? I don't know how this works, I didn't mean for this to take such a broody turn. Am I too close even now? My soul I mean? Oh bilge.” Jake runs a hand through his hair, flinging dust around his face. What a foolish rake he is, Jake thinks to himself. 

__-_ _

____

____

Dirk tenses when Jake takes his wrist. There it is, that warmth in his touch again, shooting up his arm, through his neck. He wasn’t expecting it. He snaps back to look at Jake, to those green eyes that shouldn’t seem so depthful as they gaze back at him. He’s gone again too soon. 

He shouldn’t be, he _can’t_ be, so affected by this. But he can’t deny the physical, heady rush it instantly brings. 

_Does it bother you?_ , Jake has asked him. Dirk almost laughs as he reaches his answer. 

Despite it all, despite the prince’s wandering eye for pretty things and his inherent flirtatious manner, Jake’s soul the other night still registered for him as _calm, green, fresh, radiant, radiating_ , so strongly that everything else could fade away. 

It was nothing like what Jake all seemed to be. 

Even now, in Jake’s fleeting proximity, it is so tempting to lean in again, just for a taste. But Dirk is scared. He’s worried about what will happen if he does it again, because he knows he’ll like it too much. 

_Does it bother you?_

Yes, but not you, Jake. 

“You…” _You weren’t too close._ “aren’t. You’re fine,” Dirk says weakly. This is bad, this whole everything is making him too vulnerable. He clears his throat and sits up. “You’re not… bad.” An understatement. “Anyways, it’s fine. What, is princedom under a microscope not all it’s cracked up to be, either?” He gives him a wry half-smile. 

__-_ _

____

____

For one long, burning second, Jake is caught under the weight of Dirk’s direct eye contact. _High Beams,_ he thinks, like a rabbit caught up in the seizing glare of a ‘72 Skylark barreling towards him. He blinks, and it’s over, the sound of Dirk clearing his throat snapping Jake back into speaking terms. He locks away the soft sound of Dirk's meek volume in his mind to revisit later.

Is that an honest to goodness smile on Dirk's handsome face?!

And teasing! A real _smile_ , albeit a little, cheeky, lopsided one! Jake can't help but smile back, big and crooked and toothy as he huffs out a string of laughter. Well, would you look at that!

“Not bad, eh? I’ll take it.” He winks again, elbowing Dirk’s arm. 

Just the thought of his ‘princedom’ makes Jake's shoulders tense up. “You bet your stars and garters it isn't! You know, I'm fairly tempted to just set up roots here in this library! Nobody bothers me here, not a soul! Well, save for the good company that wonders in from time to time between his rigorous duties, that is.” 

__-_ _

____

____

There’s a particular lightness to his words, and Dirk finds himself confused for a second. Is Jake referring to the servants that wander through from time to time, or to him? Rigorous duties? 

Jake is referring to him, right? Even if he’s not, Dirk finds himself flushing, again. 

The wink certainly hadn’t helped either. 

Jake is smiling at him, and Dirk is compelled to continue this. “I guess that’s one thing we have in common. If I have to sit through one more meeting on magic diffusion policies I’m running away to the woods. Especially now that your family has been put up in our place, no offense, that’s kind of all the time.” He laughs dryly. “There’s probably someone out there looking for me to sign a piece of paper as we speak.” 

Saying that does remind him that they need to get back to the task at hand, but for once Dirk doesn’t want to be hurried away, especially not from Jake. Not when the prince seems so inclined to touch him in ways he isn’t expecting. Not when he likes it so much, which again sets off alarms that he easily manages to silence. He should remind himself that Jake has only one mode, and it is consistently set to ‘flirt’. 

_Or is it?_

__-_ _

____

____

Jake leans forward, elbows on his knees and jaw on his fist, turning to smile up at Dirk. He knows he must be giggling like some kind of twitterpated fool, but does bugger all to put a stopper on it. Strider doesn’t seem to mind. Besides, he thinks affectionately, It’s nice to talk to someone who is not Jake’s direct family, cracking his knuckles over one thing or the next. 

“Offense? Pet, we’re in agreement!” He says, patting Dirk’s arm with his free hand. “Hear this, I’ve taken to the woods myself on more than one occasion in escape from my own family no less. I’m afraid I’m intimately familiar with the great outdoors by now.” He shakes his head, remembering all the times Jane, as a tiny thing brimming with righteous fury, would run out into the greenwood and hunt him down after getting reprimanded or, on oft’ occasions, when she would find him sniffling and wounded by the sheer number of people around him, only to talk him into coming home. They really were two peas in a pod back then. Jake swallows, trying to get off that particular thought track. The woods were always his escape when he had no other options.

Now that he’s of a certain age, there seems only to be less and less chances for escape.

He taps his fingers against his chin, focusing back on Dirk and his wonderful, dry humor and handsome features. There now, back to feeling dumb in the right direction.

“That’s two things we’ve got in common now, Strider. What happens at strike three, I wonder?”

__-_ _

____

____

There Jake goes, touching him again like it’s nothing. 

Goddamn, he just seems so happy. Like everything else Jake offers him, Dirk is tempted to take some of it. Or rather it’s just given to him. In any case, Dirk feels lighter as this seemingly causeless laughter leaves Jake. 

But Jake asks him that entirely flirtatious question, and Dirk takes stock of his fluttering heart and the warmth in his stomach and how Jake’s smile makes him want to smile and oh gods of Chalcedon, what the fuck is this blushing schoolgirl nonsense he’s letting Jake invade him with? Five minutes alone with the prince, who is only the most infamous flirt to have ever been born royal, and he’s letting his guard down in a snap. 

His mind wildly flips back, _again_ , to remembering Jake’s soul clarity, and for half a second behind blinking eyes he doubts everything he knows. He’s going to run himself ragged if he keeps with this circuitous thinking that he can’t seem to let go. 

If only he could just enjoy this time with Jake without something nagging on the edge of his mind, telling him that he’s making a mistake and the prince is only partaking in some harmless, casual flirting. But that would be ideal, right? There isn’t supposed to be anything between them. 

Damn the prince for seeming so genuine. Damn the fact that they actually do seem to have things in common.

Alright, a bit of harmless flirting never hurt anyone. Dirk doesn’t particularly want to stop when it just feels so natural. 

“It would be a shame if we did. In terms of antiquated sports, that would mean you’ve lost, right? But sure, I’m game.” He folds his fingers together and leans to one side. “I guess we’ll have to find out. Any other commonalities you think a random noble and the prince might share?” He asks Jake, willing his face not to slide into anything resembling a smirk, though his words clearly indicate a level deeper than conversation between two acquaintances. 

__-_ _

____

____

Jake's playful grin goes almost devilish as Dirk volleys his banter right back into his court, if he sticks with these “antiquated sports” phrases. 

Awful truth is, Jake loves to flirt, to banter, to have a bit of fun verbal competition that leaves both him and his partner feeling excited and sharp. Most people that sit down with him tend to focus on the fact he is a prince, and of course he doesn't mind terribly, it's almost a guarantee that things get a bit… _amorous,_ but truth is it's not always Jake's end game, it rarely is, more often than not. 

It sort of just happens that way. 

It's fun, and his partners seem to want it, so what's the harm. They usually don't care enough to linger, and that too, is just something he's grown accustomed to.

Right now, with Dirk, who very clearly can beat Jake at his own games, he thinks maybe there's more to this. Dirk isn't after notoriety or a notch on his belt, so to speak. He's come to Jake for help.

Nobody has ever asked for his help, or needed him in such a way. 

_What if you fail him?_ It's Striders own fault, really, for coming to Jake, of all people..

Poppycock, English, keep it together. Dirk is being far too accommodating for you to drop the ball now, and here you are thinking like you've already floundered this chance! He would just have give Dirk his best!

Though, he certainly wouldn't be against giving him other things, like a kiss or three, as well. This could lead to a very ticklish situation.

“Now now, I've only lost if there was a prize to gain in the first place! Is there, I wonder?” Jake gives Dirk a heated look, letting his cheek rest fully on his open palm to get a better view of the fine young nobleman in his company. “Besides, I have a nagging feeling about you, Strider. You wouldn't simply let a fellow win, no matter the competition, would you? Pertinacity then, I would wager, is another commonality between us two.” 

__-_ _

____

____

The sudden heat in Jake’s gaze throws him. Dirk senses that he is caught in a crosshairs. Jake really is flirting with him, and they are way off track with their clandestine mission. Oh, hell. 

If only he could feel what he’s feeling, a molten core deep within reminding him of something he’d been missing, when Jane looked at him. His life would be so much simpler. Then again, Jane probably would never look at anyone the way Jake is looking at him now. 

Is there a prize? For Dirk, winning it all would be getting out of his marriage arrangement and maybe giving in to the sticky trap of Jake siren’s call, likely leading him to a bed he would be hesitant to get out of. All that without any mess of _emotions_. If only he didn’t find talking to Jake so nice despite the dearth of their conversations, though that could be easily fixed. 

Dirk snorts. “Pertinacity? You’re the prince of Skaia, you probably haven’t had to work hard for anything in your life. You’re probably used to winning.” 

There is a prize, he remembers. What he promised Jake if he helped him figure out the curse- more glittering, gold artifacts for Jake to collect. But Jake isn’t referring to that, not by a longshot. 

“So whatever prize it is, I can’t make it easy for you.” 

__-_ _

____

____

Jake let his spine relax, flopping against the soft cushion at his back and crossing arms, barking out a short laugh. “Probably, probably.” He says, shaking his head. 

True, he didn’t often lose, what with most opponents throwing the fight in his favor. Nobody wants to be the guy that nearly beat the everliving flim-flam out of his majesty. Albeit, Jake certainly had a habit of biting off more than he could chew, hoping it would lead to some sort of satisfying competition, it rarely panned out as such. He was a fighter, a seeker of scrums, he just wanted one real fight, for Hera’s sake! Dirk is certainly a challenge so far!

Letting his leg fall lazily against Dirks, knees bumping together, he pushed on. “I wouldn't have it any other way!” 

He _hmms_ then, thoughtful, letting his voice go a little softer. “You know, my beloved granny used to say, ‘Jake, my little sprout, if a thing is worth having, it’s worth the fight to get it!’ She was a hoot, that woman. Extraordinary. And I do say, not often wrong.” He tapped his knee against Dirk’s as he spoke, looking out over the table of bric-a-brac. The give of the small couch was deeply satisfying to his sore back, bent as it was all morning digging through spines.

Jake closes his eyes for a moment, relishing in the pleasant warmth from Dirk’s proximity, thigh to thigh. What he wouldn’t give to get closer to it. To Dirk. He imagined them cuddled close, catching a quick kip before dinner, right there on that soft loveseat. 

He smiled to himself. Loveseat. How apt.

__-_ _

____

____

It’s obvious now. If Dirk had any doubt before, it has now entirely vanished. He is indubitably now one of Jake’s conquests. At some point he’d realized that Jake didn’t have a preference, or at least was making an exception. When did this turn from harmless flirting into clearly implied desires? How did the casual grazes of Jake’s fingertips become limbs pressed against limbs so quickly? 

It’s his fault, partially. Mostly. He let it get to this point, and now he can’t back down. Not with the way Jake is looking at him like he’s a full meal. Not with how Dirk challenged him back. He just didn’t think it would get to the next step, with Jake actually pursuing and all. He hadn’t actually thought Jake would be interested in him like that. 

What would the proper move be now? If he moves away from Jake, re-establishes the space bettereen them, it’s a signal that Jake made him uncomfortable, giving him the upper hand. But if he holds his ground, it’s just a challenge for Jake to escalate his actions. Obviously advancing himself isn’t an option. 

This game is called _chicken_ , and it’s not what he met Jake in the library to play. 

Half of his mouth shifts into a partial smile-smirk, and he angles his head ever so slightly to gaze at Jake, who is far too close. It’s nice. With the revelation of Jake’s physical indications, it feels as if the air between them has shifted. 

“Well, I did promise you more of where that came from,” he feigns ignorance and nods his chin toward the pile of gold. “I wouldn’t begrudge your highness for having such... material wants, but I do have to say, if you’re that set on the prize it doesn’t seem like you have much to show for it.” There, maybe this will get them back on track. Probably not, though. 

__-_ _

____

____

There he goes, smiling again. Dirk must not have the damnedest clue what a devastating weapon he wields! It works Jake up, filling his stomach with collywobbles and stirring up a frightfully keen type of affection in his chest.

Leaning forward again, Jake turns his body to face Dirk, one hand on the back of the loveseat, the other planted on his knee furthest from Dirk. It’s hard not to see him for the dish he really is, pressed this close. He has yet give Jake the gate, and that alone is giving Jake a heady dose of hope for more. He licks his lips and grins. There’s a new flavor of nervous excitement humming along his nerves now that he’s absotively sure Dirk might actually want to playing ball. 

He nods slowly, drumming his fingers along the back of the sofa. “Alright, alright. Fair enough. We’ve only just begun, as it stands.” He shifts, trying to turn just a little further, lean a little closer. 

“But what say you, clementine, if my wants aren’t by definition, _material?_ ”

It would take no effort to lean forward and close the gap. No effort, but every goddamn ounce of courage he could possibly muster. Jake’s eyes dart back and forth between Dirks, trying to pull any hint he can from that stoic, wry smile. The air veritably crackles between them like clinging static. _It’s bloody maddening,_ Jake thinks, waiting for the dam to break. 

So much for a nap. 

__-_ _

____

____

Dirk becomes very aware of the way his hands are folded in his lap. He can sense Jake’s hand at the back of the couch, so close to plunging into his hair if he wanted. 

_You will not kiss the prince_ , he tells himself sternly. 

Still, he gazes directly at Jake in his well-practiced stoic manner, willing himself not to give any sign of his blazing attraction away. He tells himself to keep breathing, to keep his mouth closed so as to avoid obvious signs of arousal. His heart or flushing tendencies he cannot control so easily, though. He’s sure by now the falling sensation in his stomach won’t leave until he’s out of Jake’s presence. 

To say that he hadn’t been continuously eyeing Jake since he first dragged him away to that bathroom would be a lie. He written off that as fantasy, and been so wrong. He’s still processing the idea of Jake wanting him, and now that specific hurdle has been passed… 

Would it be so bad to let himself get carried away with the notorious philanderer? 

_Only because it’s your future wife’s brother...._ And maybe, only a little bit, because he could easily see himself falling for Jake and all his charm as the heartbreaker he is, a fact that stirs acute shame within. 

None of it will matter if they don’t figure this curse out, and yet precious minutes tick solidly away to that nearing date. Passing time when they could be working. 

Dirk watches the muscles of Jake’s neck as he swallows, and realizes his eyes have come to settle on Jake’s lips. 

Is Jake nearing him, or is Dirk subconsciously leaning forward? Like magnets, he muses. 

He smirks at Jake entirely and when he purposefully leans away he can feel his body angrily rejecting it. He doesn’t just want to be closer to Jake, he aches for it, a completely physical yearning. 

“And the prince continues to live up to his reputation,” he sighs and forces himself to his feet, though it comes through gritted teeth. It’s only when he’ll be alone later that he’ll wonder the ‘what-ifs’ of these events. Now that the prince has set his sights on getting Dirk to dance with him, there’s no way he’s going to make the mission easy. Dirk knows that if he’s not careful, he will give in to Jake’s beckoning. 

He will have to be very, very careful. 

__-_ _

____

____

Dirk is bloody alluring, a soft flush across his cheeks and down the proud line of his nose, making a beautiful pink backdrop for that wild spray of freckles. 

And then he’s gone, up and away and out of reach at the drop of a hat. Jake smiles, forfeit. The chase continues.

Hold the phone. 

He stops smiling, his face falling into a look of confused bafflement. Reputation?

“Reputation, have I?” Jake says, scooting forward on the loveseat and looking up at Dirk, wringing his hands together. Well, that certainly was a surprise. “What have the birdies been telling, then? Nothing too nefarious, I hope.”

__-_ _

____

____

Dirk turns to look at him. At Jake’s seemingly perplexed expression he snorts. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows you get around like it’s your secondary royal duty. I’m not here to be one of your escapades, Jake.” Unfortunately, he really wasn’t. However harsh his words may have been, the line needed to be set. 

__-_ _

____

____

For a moment, he’s frozen, mouth hanging wide open to let the flies in. Jake’s mind whites out, nothing inside but a processing dial tone as he chews on the fact that Dirk, and half his kingdom apparently, has just labeled him a floozy. A rounder. A skirt chaser. 

_A Jezebel._

“ _Beg your pardon?_ ” Jake bites out, launching into action, stepping away from the comfort of the small sofa. “My _escapades?_ Is that what you think I’m doing?” He’s struck fast with a hot bolt of anger. Only just moments ago they were cozy as a clam, and now _this?_ Is this really how Dirk is and Jake just didn’t notice until he got close enough to get bit? Or maybe he didn’t _want_ to notice.

“And you then. Suppose you’re exactly as they say, hmm, chickadee?” He runs a hand through his hair, a dry laugh rolling up and out of his throat, glaring as Dirk’s ironclad expression. How dare he. How dare Dirk talk to him like this when all Jake wanted was to get a little closer to him. 

Fine then, fair’s fair. “The shoe certainly does seems to fit,” he says, letting his arm fall as he waves at hand at Dirk’s entirely. 

__-_ _

____

____

He can’t help it, Dirk rolls his eyes at Jake’s denial. “You’re not giving great evidence to the contrary,” he mutters. That all with the pet names and soft touches and flirty overtures, he really can’t see how it would be otherwise. But Jake actually seems pretty up in arms about it. Maybe it’s just from being faced with the reality of it. 

At Jake’s assertion his eyebrows come together in one quick moment of incomprehension before being brought back to measured steadiness. He crosses his arms. “Yeah, sure, uh, what shoe?” 

__-_ _

____

____

Jake bites his bottom lip, not entirely sure he should say what he's heard now that Dirk is asking for it. Goodness knows he deserves to hear it! Jake swallows and licks his bottom lip where his teeth pinched the soft skin a little harder that he meant. Two feet in the grave already, English, may as well go all in.

“The gloomy galoshes I heard tell about before coming to this dang blasted maze of a house! Common hearsay tells that you're as cold as the gold you foster.” Jake retorts, gesturing at the table with the goofy trinkets.

“Honestly Strider!” He asserts, framing the two words like a reprimand, tossing them in Dirks face.

“I just-” he sucks in a tight breath through his nose and holds it, looking away at anything but that impassive front.

He almost says I'm doing this because I obviously fancy you, but clamps down hard before the words break free of his teeth. After this little spat, he's not so sure Dirk would even pay him mind. He not even sure he wants Dirk to pay him mind, or anything for that matter! He rubs at the back of his neck. He's not interested in arguing rumors with someone he actually liked up until the last five minutes.

“Perhaps we should just… get back to work, shall we? Bandy anything but this.” He says, looking at the floor between them.

__-_ _

____

____

Dirk’s eyes flicker down as the words strike him.

_Cold._

So that’s what the people thought of him, huh? 

_Honestly, Strider._ It hits like a slap. 

‘Wouldn’t you be, too, if you were cursed like this? To be constantly aware of everyone, at every moment?,’ he wants to say. ‘Wouldn’t you be too, if you were forced into a nightmare?’ 

Yes, Dirk was aware. His shifty excuses to get to his quarters in the evening, and even before that his partiality for mechanical and inhuman work all probably didn’t paint the most friendly picture, but what choice did he have? 

How could he get close to anyone when almost every person out there only added to the problem? Except for his family. 

Except for... 

Except for Jake.

He realizes it sadly. To him, Jake wasn’t like that. Being aware of and close to Jake didn’t threaten a headache between his temples. So different from Jane, whose presence loomed over and suffocated. 

None of it made sense with all that Dirk knew about him, but still, he’d pushed away the one person who’s soul hadn’t driven him a little further to an edge. That was Dirk’s own doing. He could do it now, reach in and try to pluck out Jake’s emotions to see for real, but he didn’t need it. As Jake stood meekly before him, deflating, he could read the sincerity. A genuine disappointment. Dirk couldn’t pinpoint at what. 

Dirk was disappointed in himself, too. Of course he would do that to the only unrelated person that had offered companionship. 

As the seconds ticked on, he tried to even remember why he’d said it, calling Jake out like that. But Dirk knows why. He’s scared. He’s scared of many things he won’t admit. Of being married off. Of being continuously surrounded by people, inescapably so. Of being used and discarded. He knew that the kingdom would use and then discard him if he broke the curse, he _knew_ that. That didn’t scare him. 

What scared him most of all was if Jake would play with and toss him away, too. 

If only the gold he wrought with his hands could forge his soul with such fortitude so that he didn’t feel this. 

He swallows thickly and shifts his eyes downward. “Yeah… We should probably just do that.” 

Even if he had ruined it all, Jake was still his hope for breaking the curse. He still seemed amenable to helping Dirk, and that’s all he’d asked for in the first place. He can’t look at Jake, instead finds himself unable to turn his gaze from the pile of gold. “Thank you for helping me. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He’s not intending for it to sound cold, but it probably does anyways. With that he sighs out, doing his best to release the tension that had set in from the moments following his physical separation from Jake. 

“I guess we can start combing through. Was there anything specific you started with?” Maybe a little more physical separation would be good. Maybe he could start to think out the unfamiliar muddle of feelings tugging around his gut and towards the prince, towards bad decisions, and away from everything Dirk knew he should be doing.


End file.
